Sin City
by shadowkissed-rachel
Summary: Eric Dragomir meets Emily at The Witching Hour casino in Las Vegas. What starts out as a one night stand quickly evolves into something more complicated. Emily and Eric must deal with the consequences of their relationship, and the ramifications it could have on the rest of the Moroi world.
1. Chapter 1

Emily stared at her reflection. Her mirror was framed with lightbulbs, some shown brightly, while others flickered, casting strange shadows across her reflection. Even though she was looking in a mirror, Emily hardly recognized the girl staring back at her. She had dark blue eyes, and despite the heavy makeup and the fake lashes that adorned them, they sparkled like two sapphires. Her eyes were Emily's favorite part about herself. No matter how many costumes she wore, no matter how many wigs she put on, her eyes were constant and unchanging.

Emily tilted her head to the side so that her heart-shaped face rested on one of her delicate shoulders. She studied the smudged glass of her vanity mirror. She thought her skin was too pale, and she often compared herself to the humans she saw walking down the Vegas strip at night. They came in all shapes and sizes – some were dark, some were light, some were curvy, and others were short. Emily felt incredibly plane compared to them. When Emily was on stage at The Witching Hour, the casino where she performed, she knew that she looked like every other girl in her company.

Unlike most Moroi, Emily had grown up among the humans. Her classmates had taunted her and made fun of her gangly limbs and her unnatural height. She hadn't had many friends, but that didn't bother her. Her ballet slippers were the only companion she needed. She spent most of her nights in the studio, eventually forcing her instructor to bestow an extra set of keys upon her. Emily had always imagined a particular future for herself, one that involved her signing with a ballet company, and leaving her hometown and the people who had never noticed her in the dust. She would return a few years later, when she was famous of course, and they would all be sorry.

Unfortunately, Emily's future had turned out a little differently. She hadn't had the money to pay for schooling beyond high school, and she had been forced to wait tables for a few months while teaching part-time at her old studio. During those months, Emily had transformed. Her mother often joked and called her the ugly duckling. Emily hated being compared to a bedtime story, but she knew that there was some truth to what her mother said. Emily had started out as an awkward adolescent who wore her hair in braids, and ended up a graceful 20-something with shining eyes and big dreams.

She bided her time, and eventually landed an audition with an all-Moroi dance company. It was only after she had earned a spot that she learned the company performed exclusively at a Las Vegas casino. It was hardly the future she had imagined for herself, but Emily decided to take a chance, telling herself that everyone had to start somewhere. The Witching Hour would be temporary.

Emily had been at The Witching Hour for two years now, and the massive feathered headpieces and her cramped dressing room didn't feel temporary any more. The sequins and the lights and the dances were all familiar, she knew them like the back of her hand. Las Vegas had become Emily's home, and that notion made her both happy and sad, and she was still trying to figure out how that could be.

A Moroi woman poked her head into Emily's dressing room and smiled. The sight was comical when one considered the gigantic feathered plume that adorned the top of her head. She looked like some kind of exotic bird, one that had fangs.

"What are you doing?" The woman exclaimed. "You're supposed to be in the wing, the overture is starting soon!"

Emily turned and offered her a meek smile, "I'm having some trouble with the headpiece." She said, giving a made-up excuse for her absence.

The woman stepped the rest of the way into the room. She wore an outfit identical to Emily's. It was a tight, sequined number, and it fit more like a second skin than like a dress. She glided over to Emily and snatched her matching headpiece off of the mannequin head that sat on the vanity. The woman began helping Emily to fasten it over the curling red wig that she wore.

"Vivian," said Emily through gritted teeth. "That's too tight."

Emily felt like her circulation was being caught off but Vivian didn't seem to care. "There's no such thing," she said as Emily felt a bobby pin scrape against the nape of her neck. "Not with these things."

Emily knew that Vivian had a point. Most of their headpieces weighed upwards of twenty pounds, and it was every showgirl's nightmare to have it fall off mid-performance, and so Emily endured the pain.

"There!" Said Vivian triumphantly. Emily looked at her through the mirror and saw that she was beaming.

Vivian was always smiling, she loved her job. She loved the glamour and the admiring fans, and she loved Emily. Vivian had been her first real friend, and Emily would be forever grateful to her for her kindness and generosity.

"Now come on," said Vivian as she pulled on Emily's hand. "There are a few royals in the audience tonight."

Emily rolled her eyes, Vivian was a sucker for titles. Vivian grinned mischievously at her, and Emily knew that she would probably be forced to mingle with the patrons after the performance.

The two girls made their way down a narrow corridor and eventually joined a gaggle of dancers waiting behind the heavy velvet curtains. A few moments later, the orchestra began to play. Under the cover of the overture, Emily and the other dancers moved into their positions and waited for the curtain to rise. Emily felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that accompanied the start of the performances. Despite any misgivings she might have about being a Vegas showgirl, dancing on the stage of The Witching Hour always thrilled her.

The next hour and a half was a whirlwind of paddle turns and costume changes. At the end of the performance, Emily was covered with a light sheen of sweat. Her and Vivian returned to her dressing room, each of them glowing from the exertion.

"Did you see them?" Vivian asked excitedly as she peeled the finale costume off of her slim frame.

Emily stood in front of the mirror, trying to locate all of the pins in her wig. Sometimes she felt like she needed a metal detector. "See who?" She asked, pulling out what she hoped was the last pin.

"Those guys in the VIP section," she said as she shimmied out of her transitional tights. "They were gorgeous, I bet those are the royals Mathias was talking about."

Emily pulled off her wig and set it on top of the mannequin head. "I don't know how you can see anything from up there." Emily slipped off her wig cap, and a mass of jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders.

Vivian was pulling on a navy blue dress with a sparkling neckline, but paused to look up at Emily, "I snuck a peak at them during the tap number."

"I see," said Emily as she dug through her clothing rack and selected a plane black cocktail dress. She held it up to herself and heard Vivian snort from behind her.

"No way," she said shaking her head. "Here, you should wear this." Vivian slipped out of the dress and tossed it to Emily.

The fabric was silky and felt expensive. "Are you sure?"

"Deadly," she told Emily as she pulled another dress off of the rack. "We have to look the part tonight. If we play our cards right, we could end up princesses by the end of the night."

Emily pulled on the dress, it fit like a glove, doing the most for her slender frame. The dress made her eyes shine even more than they usually did.

"Emily, you look beautiful," gushed Vivian.

Emily took one last fleeting look in the mirror and then turned to offer Vivian a mischievous smile of her own, "Those royals can eat their hearts out."

…

The two girls wove their way in and out of the crowd, each familiar with the way the patrons clumped together at the bar and on the dance floor. Vivian led Emily over to the VIP booths, all of them ringed with Dhampir guardians. Vivian knew better than to approach the booths, and instead she pulled Emily toward her. They began dancing, synching their bodies with the music pouring through the speakers. It wasn't long before they had the attention of a number of the bar patrons. Emily spun around with her hands raised above her head and closed her eyes. She no longer cared who was watching, she wanted to lose herself. The only time she felt confident was when she was dancing, she felt like a goddess or a temptress, able to bring men to their knees with the sway of her hips.

She opened her eyes and noticed that Vivian was no longer dancing beside her. Emily scanned the room and saw her being led away by the hand toward one of the booths. She tossed her head over her shoulder, her long blonde hair swinging around as she did, and smiled at Emily. Emily continued to dance, knowing that Vivian would eventually mention to her new romance that she had a friend. It was common knowledge that the only thing men found more intriguing than a beautiful woman, was two beautiful women.

"Excuse me," a voice from somewhere behind her said.

Emily ignored it and continued to move, not wanting to be disturbed. She was used to dealing with drunk Moroi men.

"I'm sorry," said the voice. "I don't usually do this but –"

Emily whirled on him, ready to tell him off, but froze at the sight of him. Emily was sure she had never seen a more beautiful man in her life. He had blonde hair and deeply green eyes. Emily's breath quickened as she stared into them. The lights in the casino flashed across his face, illuminating his features. His face looked like someone had carved it out of marble. Most men looked at her like she was a piece of meat, but not this man. There was something disarming about him.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "but I saw you and, I needed to know your name."

Emily was stunned, but she eventually found her voice. "Emily," she said, holding out her hand to him.

He brought it up to his lips, and then spoke, "Eric."

 **I've been wanting to write this story for what feels like forever. I just wanted to get some feedback on it, let me know what you think and if you would read past this first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

Emily blinked a few times in disbelief; she was waiting for him to disappear. Men who looked at Emily the way Eric was looking at her only existed in fairytales and in Victorian novels. They most certainly didn't frequent seedy Moroi casinos in Las Vegas. Emily had felt him though, when his lips had brushed the delicate skin of her hand, he had to be real.

She stared at him unashamedly. The music that had been deafening only moments before, the clinking of glasses, and the laughter of the patrons all faded into the background. The casino could have been burning and Emily would not have noticed. She only saw Eric. She saw his steady, deeply green eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes. She saw the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the fullness of his lips. She saw his expensive looking shirt, rolled up to his elbows. But despite the intensity with which she studied him, she realized, too late, that his mouth had been moving and that he was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of crimson. "Did you say something?"

Eric was still holding her hand, and now he was smiling at her, his green eyes flashing with amusement. "I asked if you wanted to get a drink," he said, leaning in so that he could whisper into her ear.

Emily knew the trick well. The more flirtatious bar patrons would always lean in close to talk to her instead of straining to be heard over the music. They would place their hands on the small of her back and they would ask if they could buy her a drink. Emily was always armed with a number of refusals, some of them were meant to be kind, others were witty, and the rest were nasty. Only now that it was this man asking her, Emily found that she was at a loss for words. She merely nodded her head up and down.

Eric turned away from her and led her through the dance floor and toward the bar. The air was closer there, and made warmer by the writhing bodies. Emily could smell the sweat and the smoke and the alcohol, all the things that made The Witching hour what it was. She clung to Eric as they made their way through the dancers, allowing herself to do so under the pretenses of not wanting to lose sight of him. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she thought about how unlikely it was that she could lose him in the crowd. He stood out like a rose in a garden full of weeds. She imagined that even months from now, the image of his smile would be seared into her memory, and the feel of his hand in hers burned onto her skin.

Eric and Emily approached the bar, but she released his hand as soon as she made eye contact with the Dhampir who was standing behind the gilded marble countertop. Mathias was polishing a stemmed wine glass with a white rag and smirking at Emily. Mathias had started working at The Witching Hour shortly after Emily had moved to Las Vegas. He was short, but thickly muscled, with tan skin and dark hair that he kept neatly trimmed. He usually worked as a bouncer for the casino, but doubled as a bartender whenever someone called in sick or the bar traffic was too heavy. Mathias had also made it his mission to protect Emily and the other girls from any unwanted advances. Emily had lost count of the number of patrons he had tossed out of the casino.

Mathias usually didn't have to worry about Emily though. She was perfectly capable of fending off her would-be suitors all by herself. In fact, Emily could be counted on to shoo away practically any man who approached her. It was a running joke among The Witching Hour employees, though Emily didn't know it. Mathias had warned her that one day a man would come through The Witching Hour and sweep her off her feet. Emily had been clutching a drink at the time, and had flicked water in his face and told him that if he ever caught her making googly eyes at a man in this dirty casino, to promptly dump a bucket of ice water over her head.

Emily's eyes widened as she recalled her conversation with Mathias. His smirk had been replaced by a good-natured smile, and she could tell he was doing the same. Eric approached the bar with Emily in tow, but she hung back for a brief moment. Emily shook her head violently from behind Eric's shoulder, hoping that her gesture would convey just how badly she did not want Mathias to drench her in front of Eric. He raised his eyebrows, his hands moving toward the handle of the sink, and he nodded enthusiastically at her. Emily drew her hand across her throat with a quick jerking motion, just as Eric turned around to ask her what she wanted to drink. She smiled at him and began rubbing the nape of her neck, hoping that she didn't look like she had been threatening the bartender with hand gestures. She could hear Mathias's booming laughter over the din.

"What's your poison?" Eric asked her, leaning in again.

"A dirty gin martini," she told him, not sure if he could hear her over the music. "With an olive," she added.

Eric turned back around to order, only to discover that Mathias had already placed Emily's exact order on the bar in front of him. Eric didn't miss a beat though, and he added a whiskey sour to his tab. Mathias managed to make the drink without breaking eye contact with Eric once. Emily would have been impressed if she hadn't recognized this as one of Mathias's classic intimidation techniques. Emily shook her head in exasperation but smiled as soon as Eric turned around to hand her the martini.

"Thank you," she said, taking the drink from him. She tried to ignore the tiny flame that ignited when their fingers brushed.

"Of course," said Eric, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "At the risk of sounding totally cliché, can I ask you if you come here often?"

Emily, who had been sipping on her drink, choked on the gin as it slid down her throat. She was equal parts amused and terrified. Did she ask him that if by saying often, he meant every day, then yes she did come here often? Or did she take a page out of Vivian's handbook and pretend to be some wildly mysterious and sexy stranger?

Emily looked up at him through her lashes, and shook her head. "It's my first time."

Sexy stranger it is.

"Ah," said Eric knowingly, a glint in his eyes. "That explains it."

"Explains what?" asked Emily, intrigued.

He tossed back his drink before answering. "I've been coming here for years, but I've never seen a girl like you here before."

Emily wasn't sure if she was supposed to swoon or be flattered by what Eric had said. Was she supposed to be impressed that this man had been coming to a casino for years? She also didn't like being compared to other girls, even if it was meant to be in a good way. She had spent her whole life avoiding that. Emily hated the way men took it upon themselves to rank women and to pit them against each other. She could feel the initial infatuation she had felt for Eric begin to slip.

"It seems that men like you are everywhere," she told him flippantly.

Eric's confidence faltered for a moment. "I'm sorry, have I offended you in some way?"

She took another sip of her drink before responding. "No," she told him, taking special care to keep her tone neutral. "I was just wondering if that line usually works for you."

Eric stared at her for a moment, and then to Emily's surprise, he grinned at her. "It's actually the first time I've used it, but judging by the look on your face, I'll have to go back to the drawing board. Would you let me try again?"

Emily had been so unsure of Eric at first, caught off guard by his unnatural good looks and his disarming smile, but he wasn't fooling anyone anymore. She told herself that she could see right through his charming façade to the spoiled playboy that lurked beneath. Emily knew she had a choice to make, she could throw her drink in his face and stalk off dramatically, or she could string him along for the rest of the night, squeeze some free drinks out of him, and go home with Vivian.

Emily eyed him suspiciously. "That depends," she said, downing the rest of her martini and thrusting her empty glass into his hand. "It speaks, but does it dance?"

Before Eric had a chance to respond, Emily had spun on her heel and walked away, her raven hair sweeping after her. Eric turned and pressed the glass into the nearest patron's hand, not caring that he was not a bartender, nor did he work at the casino. Emily could see him out of the corner of her eye, weaving in and out of the crowd, dodging waiters and dancers to keep up with her. Eric managed to catch her by the wrist and she spun into him so that her back was pressed against his chest.

"That wasn't very nice." His breath was warm against her neck and she was suddenly hyper aware of how close they were.

She twisted away, throwing a mischievous grin over her shoulder as she did. "What wasn't nice?" She called over the music.

"Two things actually," he said stepping closer to her. "One, you call me _it."_

Emily laughed as her hips began to sway in sync with music, "And the second thing ?"

He placed his hands on her hips and drew Emily toward him. "You doubted my dancing abilities." He positioned both of their hands in a waltzing position.

Emily tilted her head in confusion as he began to lead her in a perfectly timed waltz. "Your style is a bit formal, don't you think?" She tilted her head in the direction of the other dancers, one of them was wearing roller skates and was practically vibrating against her partner.

Eric shrugged. "Possibly, but I've found it to be the most romantic and expressive form of dancing."

Emily furrowed her brows at his comment.

"You don't agree?" he asked.

Emily bit her lip, "I think ballet is the most expressive."

Emily had always loved ballet, she loved her pointe shoes and she loved her callouses. She loved the turns and the leaps, and found that even though she was very good at kick lines, dancing at the casino wasn't the same.

Eric's expression was thoughtful, "I shall have to take you then."

"Take me where?" Emily asked frowning.

"To the ballet of course," he said, sweeping her into a turn.

"How do you know I'd even agree to come with you?" she asked.

Eric's face softened. "I watched you earlier, when you were dancing…it was," he paused, searching for the right words. "It was mesmerizing, you seemed so happy."

Emily thought back to when she and Vivian had been dancing earlier, she had been messing around. "That?" she asked incredulously. "That was nothing, Vivian and I –"

"I meant when you were on stage," he said, cutting her off.

Emily froze mid step, her hand still clasped with Eric's. "You…you saw me?" she stammered out.

"Yes, during the show, you were incredible…"

Rage and embarrassment were welling up within Emily. "You saw me and you let me lie to you? You knew the whole time that I came here often?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," offered Eric, seeming genuine. "I just thought that – "

"Thought you would indulge the poor, showgirl? Thought you would play along with whatever I said, as long as you ended up in my bed?"

"I assure you, that was never my intention."

"And what were your intentions?" Emily asked bitterly.

"I just wanted to know you," he said simply.

She wrenched her hand away from him. "That's another poor line," she told Eric venomously. "You should probably go back to the drawing board with that one too, but don't come back."

Emily stalked off in the direction of the dressing rooms. She slipped out of Vivian's dress as soon as she could and shrugged on a sweat shirt and a pair of loose fitting pants. She hated that she had allowed herself to be swept up in the games of some royal Moroi just because he had a pretty face. For whatever reason, she had dropped all of her defenses the moment Eric had kissed her hand.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Emily went home with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she closed her eyes, she saw the way Eric had stared at her when they had first met. She rolled over in her bed, pressing her pillow to her ears, trying to block out the way his voice had sounded when he'd talked about her dancing. Emily knew she was being ridiculous, that she had known this man for less than an hour, and that she shouldn't let their encounter bother her. But no matter how many times she chastised herself, Emily found that she could not forget the way his hand had felt on the small of her back. Emily shivered beneath the sheets, and forced the thought from her mind. She finally fell asleep, only to dream about a pair of jade green eyes.

 **Guys I am so excited to write this story. Since I don't have a lot to go on as far as Emily's and Eric's characters go, they're mostly going to be based on my imagination. I'm also open to suggestions though! What do you think they were like? How do you think they met? Leave me a review and let me know!**


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